


Out of Darkness

by clarzipan



Category: Drarry - Fandom, Harry Potter - Fandom, romione - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Drarry, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry/Ginny Friendship, I just want the best for these boys but for now they might have to suffer, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multiple Perspectives, Slow Burn, Very Very Slow Burn, anarchy?, but it does take a while, ex Hinny, it will all come together i promise, romione, they eventually get together
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-12-26
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26401327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarzipan/pseuds/clarzipan
Summary: It's right after the war and nothing has returned normal. Strange things have been happening within the Ministry and the Underworld. Draco Malfoy is trapped, Harry is the only one who can save him. Ron and Hermione deal with political turmoil and wedding plans. But hey, all in a day's work, right?Disclaimer: none of the characters belong to me. They unfortunately belong to ms. Rowling even though I don’t support her or her beliefs.Another disclaimer: this is more of an all-around Harry Potter fic than it is strictly drarry (even though that will be a larger component later on). It’s mainly a product of my own frustrations with how it all ended.Hope you enjoy! :-)
Relationships: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is kind of (actually, very) long, but I hope the rest won't be! This is mainly an exposition dump, but I promise all the information is crucial to later on.
> 
> SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS below:  
> –––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––  
> consider reading this TL;DR summary if you don't want to read the full 10k chapter :
> 
> Harry is going through a post-war existential crisis. People are still mourning, he is still mourning. Kingsley approaches him with a job offer at the Ministry of Magic, which he refuses. Harry has been having a recurring Dream that involves the Forbidden Forest and Draco Malfoy. Kingsley comes back to tell him how the Ministry of Magic is falling apart and that he, Harry, is the Master of Death. Harry, Ron, and Hermione start to make plans to infiltrate the Ministry to learn more about Harry's supposed predicament.

What is peace, if not the absence of war? What does it mean to be kind if there are no people who are mean? What is the point of life, if not for the eventual promise of death? 

These were the things that Harry was thinking to himself as he looked at his face in his dirty mirror. His gaunt, bespeckled eyes seemed empty as they stared back at him. His jaw seemed sharper than usual. Were his cheeks hollowed out? He really couldn't remember the last time he had looked at himself. 

After a year of being on the run, it was finally all over. After seventeen years of running and war, he was supposed to be at peace. Voldemort was dead. He, Harry, had killed Voldemort. It was surreal – his whole life, chasing after his life, fearing for the world he lived in, simultaneously trying to win and not die – all of it felt as if it were from some distant dream.  
And now, here he was: alone in Grimmauld Place, sleeping in a spare room, and looking at himself in the mirror. 

Hermione and Ron would be coming back, eventually. They had decided to spend time in the Burrow with the rest of the Weasleys. Family was the most important thing on all their minds. There had been so much loss from the war. So many lives, gone, and so many families grieving. Harry knew that better than anyone, he thought. He had been grieving since he was a baby, since he was able to think on his own. The Weasleys, however, seemed foreign to grief. It really was all too much. 

Harry couldn’t even bear to think about Fred’s loss. He couldn’t think about Remus, Tonks, and the many others who had given their lives for their cause. Harry knew it was foolish to blame their deaths on himself, but part of him pained to think about how if he hadn’t been so involved, they might have had a chance. He had to steady himself on the dresser as his heart felt like it were about to give out. He looked at his hands, and tried to steady his breathing. 

I must not tell lies. 

That statement would always be a reminder of how the Ministry twisted him and his words. It would always remind him of how, in his darkest times, the Ministry had been more concerned with their own appearance. In that moment, though, the statement also warned Harry from telling lies to himself. He did not cause his friends’ deaths: the only person to blame was Voldemort.

Harry wasn’t sure when Ron and Hermione would return, but he assumed it would be weeks, or even months. They needed to be together. He had been invited to stay with them too, but for some reason he didn’t think he could bear it. Harry wasn’t sure how he would react. He considered the Weasleys to be his family, and he needed them, but he was still processing that the Battle had even happened. Ron and Hermione had left that morning. They had silently understood why Harry had chosen to stay. He was sure the rest of the Burrow would, too.  
He looked back at himself. His scar seemed more prominent to him. It had always been a part of his face, always something that he was able to look past. Now, though, it was the only feature on his face that drew his attention. He kept looking at how it stretched across his forehead and over the tops of his right cheek. It made his eyes electric, determined. It heightened his cheekbones, made his jaw a little more prominent. He had never taken the chance to actually look at it. It was certainly ugly, but it was his survival: Lilly’s last gift to him. That scar seemed to have kept him alive at every encounter with Voldemort – from his first attack to his last one. 

His heart hurt at that thought. He turned away from the mirror, and forced himself to go down to the kitchen and eat something. It was nearly night and he hadn’t touched a single plate all day. His appetite had simply not been present. 

He sat at the kitchen table. Grimmauld seemed even loftier than usual. It was oddly silent, oddly more angular. Shadows seemed to want to reach out to Harry, only for them to change their minds and recede back into their corners. Even the portrait of Dear Walburga Black seemed to be silent. It was as if the world, too, knew how quiet it all was.  
Grimmauld was not a reflection of the world it sat in, with all its greyness and dismal-ness. The wizarding world had never been more colorful and excited. Witches and wizards were out in the streets, not caring about their Muggle counterparts. They were laughing together, crying together, celebrating together. For them, the war was over. There was nothing to fear anymore! Those who were lucky enough to have survived kept their loved ones close. Those who had been affected with loss wept, but their tears were mixed with the knowledge that they would be safe from then on out. It had become a time of peace, and everyone wanted part in it. 

Harry did not eat. He did not remember falling asleep, but when he woke, he was draped uncomfortably in his chair, his limbs at awkward angles and drool running down the side of his mouth. Stiffly, he pushed himself from the table and went back into his room. He didn’t bother tucking himself in, but let himself flop over the sheets. He pulled a blanket over his tired body and fell promptly back asleep. 

This time, he dreamt. 

He was standing back in the Forbidden Forest, in the same place where he had cast away the Resurrection Stone. He was making his way through the thick trees, but the more he walked, the less clear his path became. It was not long before he was trying to push away the thick underbrush, making his way through dark leaves and branches.  
Then, in the distance, a single light powerful enough to blind him. His feet drew him closer to the light, and he had to cover his eyes with a hand as he approached. The leaves and branches cleared away, and Harry found himself in a white space that seemed to be made of light. He kept his hand over his eyes as he moved forward. There was something calling out to him, compelling him to move forward.

His feet found him in the middle of whatever space he appeared to be in. Harry looked down. There was a single figure, sleeping on the floor, with their arms crossed over their chest. Harry bent to take a closer look. 

When he registered who the figure was, he stumbled away in shock. It was none other than Malfoy. Harry allowed his feet to take him closer again. He peered into the sleeping face of his enemy and was overcome with a sense of peace and confusion. Harry reached out, against his better judgement. Just as his hand was about to brush Malfoy’s, the other boy opened his eyes and stared directly at Harry. Those grey eyes had never been so piercing. 

Harry woke with a start. His hand was over his own chest, and he was breathing heavily. 

He recalled seeing Malfoy and his family escaping the battle. The thought made him scowl. Harry hadn’t seen them fight much in the battle, and he had heard a rumour of them running away. If it was an attempt to denounce their association with Voldemort, it surely wouldn’t work in the eyes of the world. While Harry was battling for his life, the Malfoy family was running away for theirs. 

So why had Malfoy appeared to him in his dream? It had almost felt like Malfoy was calling out to him, begging for Harry to reach him. What would have happened if Harry had actually been able to touch him? 

Harry folded his knees up against his chest. He lay his head on his legs and sighed. It was morning, the third day after the war had ended. He was still feeling restless. The dream could have only been from his lasting nerves. There was no way he would return to a normal life so soon. He pushed himself out of bed and was surprised by how light he felt. Only the day before had his legs felt as heavy as stones. He held his hand up, and admired how he didn’t feel weighed down by his body. It was an odd feeling – one that he hadn’t quite realized was new. He stared curiously at his hand for a moment before shrugging and moving on. 

He quickly changed clothes and actually felt hungry. He moved to the kitchen again, and summoned Kreacher. His breakfast was short, and he only ate a little, but it was better than the days before. His head was empty. Nothing felt real. If he hadn’t been sitting in a hard wooden chair, he would have mistaken himself for still being in his dream. 

The dream he had had was still on his mind. For some reason, that had felt more real to Harry than his current state of being. Malfoy’s eyes burned into Harry’s mind. Harry had never noticed how close those eyes were to biting silver instead of a dull grey. Although, in hindsight, it was probably a projection of him that Harry had kept on to, something his mind had made up. There was no way for Harry to know, especially if he and his family had fled. Harry’s sour mood returned to him, surprisingly grounding him in his reality for the first time that morning. 

He was frowning as he cleaned his breakfast and he was frowning as he paced around Grimmauld. The movement was good for him. It allowed his mind to move from thinking about his lost loved ones. He didn’t have anything to do, and he was reckless. 

Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait long: something to do came literally knocking at his door. Harry turned his head to the sudden noise. He moved to the door to open it. Staring at him on the doorstep was none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

“Mr. Potter. Do you have a moment?”

Harry said nothing, but nodded, and let the man in. Kingsley walked in and immediately went to the sitting room, where he stiffly sat in one of the chairs. 

“Tea?”

“No thank you, Harry. This is a business call, above anything else.”

Harry sat across from Kingsley. “What do you want?”

“Mr. Potter, I am sure you are aware that now the war is over and –” 

“Really? It’s over?” Harry scoffed. “I bloody ended it. I was standing face-to-face with Voldemort and he was about to kill me. I think I fucking know that the war is over.”

Kingsley frowned. “Mr. Potter, I am not trying to demean your accomplishment. Rather, the wizarding world wants to thank you.”

“I don’t need thanks. I did what I had to do to save them, because there wasn’t any other bloody person.” Harry couldn't stop the bitterness from rising in his voice. “If anyone else had been in my position, I’m sure they would have stepped up.”

“Harry, you are not anyone else.”

“I could have been.”

Kingsley shifted in his seat. “Yes. You could have. But you weren’t, and your success has saved the world.”

Harry’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t respond. 

Kingsley went on, “It is my understanding that you wanted to be an Auror. The Ministry would like to extend a position to you if you are still interested.”

“Just … like that?”

“Mr. Potter, you would still have to undergo the same training as the other recruits. You would not be given special treatment, if that is what you are implying.”

“But, I am, aren’t I? Given special treatment, I mean.”

Kingsley frowned. He was quiet for a moment before he spoke, “Yes.”

“I can’t accept something that I don’t feel I’ve earned.”

“I would think killing Voldemort would be enough of a test.”

“You’re offering me the position because I’m still the ‘Chosen One.” Harry stood from his chair and started pacing. “It hasn’t even been a week since the battle’s been over.”

“Mr. Potter, you are the most sought-after person at the present time. The entire wizarding world will want you to work for them. It would be foolish to take the hand of the wrong sort.”

Wickedly, Harry grinned. “I think I can choose the wrong sort for myself.” Perhaps his dream had sparked something in him, after all. The memory of Malfoy had been enough to bring back some kind of spark, it seemed, even if that spark was rooted in anger. 

Kingsley frowned. “Mr. Potter, if you refuse this position, you will be making a grave mistake.”

“I understand your position, Auror Shacklebolt. You need me in your department to make the Ministry look good, even after all their blunders in the war.”

“I had assumed that this is what you wanted.”

Harry considered this for a second. He had, at one time, wanted to be an Auror. Now, however, after the dust seemed to have settled, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to be part of that group. The Ministry had done nothing but hinder him during the war. The Ministry had actively stood in his way on his way to defeat Voldemort. Sure, there were good Aurors who were willing to fight for good. Most of them, Harry found, had preferred to stay by the Ministry’s side and done nothing. As far as Harry was concerned, doing nothing was as bad as not fighting at all. 

“That … was an idea from the past. I hadn’t known who the Ministry really was.”

“And who might that be?”

Harry frowned. “They’re money-grabbing scoundrels who don’t care about the wellbeing of the people they’re supposed to protect.”

“Thicknesse is gone. There are going to be serious reforms in the coming weeks.”

“Like what?”

“Umbridge has been fired. There are going to be committees set up to promote rehabilitation for those who have suffered at Voldemort’s hand. We’re going to go after the remaining Death Eaters who have yet to be captured, and we will send them to Azkaban. We will improve the state of living for wizardkind.”

Harry’s frown deepened. “Azkaban couldn’t hold the Death Eaters before.” 

“Before, Voldemort was still alive.”

Harry let that sit uncomfortably with him. The way Kingsley painted the Ministry, it felt like a re-hashing of the regime Voldemort had wanted to set up. He didn’t want good for just wizardkind, he wanted good for the world. Was that not what he had fought for? 

“I can’t take the position,” Harry said finally.

Kingsley frowned at him. “Mr. Potter, you are still young. You cannot know what is best for you or the greater good.” 

Harry turned sharply around at him. “Don’t you hear yourself? Don’t you realize how much you sound like Voldemort? What was the point of all the fighting, if things are just going to go back to the way they were? Someone like Voldemort could rise again if things are the same!”

When he spoke again, it was slow and careful, “Mr. Potter, we are not striving for the world Voldemort desired. We are striving for better.”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t be part of a Ministry who refuses to help the people.” 

“I admire you, Harry,” Kingsley said with a kind glint in his eye. “You do not know when to back down, but that makes you stronger.”

Harry frowned. He couldn’t tell if Kingsley was being genuine with him. Kingsley stood and smoothed out his robes. “I will accept your answer for now, Mr. Potter, but there will be many others who pester you in the coming weeks.”

“Then tell them that I already made my decision!” Harry yelled as Kingsley Apparated out of the room.

Harry picked up the nearest cushion and threw it away from him in frustration. He let out a deep and angry growl, and found himself pacing around again.  
He had been looking for something to do, and even when it handed itself to him on a silver platter, Harry still wasn’t satisfied. Although, that seemed to be the problem. He had never been more sure of a decision he had made. How could the Ministry already be after him? He was not about to be their poster boy, and he sure as hell was not about to support them if they were just going to promote the same divisiveness between wizards and Muggles. Did they not realize he was still grieving? Did they not assume that Harry had seen enough violence for a lifetime?  
Obviously, not. 

Harry sank into a couch and buried his head in his hands. How could the Ministry be already seeking recruits, so soon after the war had ended? He supposed it made some kind of sense, somewhere in the back of his mind. He knew Kingsley was right when he said the entire wizarding world would be wanting to hire him. He didn’t want those jobs if he would end in the same position as the ministry. He didn’t want to be given positions just because of his name. 

He had seen the power that the Ministry held, and he had seen how power could easily corrupt the people who desired it. After defeating Voldemort, none of it seemed appealing. The sudden change in him was definitely strange, and he wasn’t even sure what he wanted to do. For all his life, his only goal had been to defeat Voldemort. Now that he had, there was no clear sense of direction for him. In fact, the only thing that he was sure about, was the fact that he was no longer interested in working for the Ministry. Somehow, the Ministry seemed as responsible for the war as Voldemort. 

He also mentally cursed himself for treating Kingsley like he had. There had been something off about the whole encounter – that was for sure – but Harry had always seen Kingsley as a friend and helper. Maybe Harry was unsettled because Kingsley was such a prominent member of the Order, someone who had been firm in the fight against Voldemort. The war itself had only ended days ago, so what could the Order be planning?

The feeling of loneliness crept over him like a thick blanket. It was not warm or comforting, but suffocating and too hot to be comfortable. It was a feeling of heat in his throat, emptiness in his chest, and yearning for something – someone – to be with. He knew he could go to the Burrow. What was holding him back?  
He sank deeper into the couch and stared blankly at the empty fireplace. Once, maybe, it had been comfortable. But as the unlit thing stared back at Harry, he could only imagine how cold it actually was. Funny, how something designed to give off warmth was colder than ever, unused and uncared for. He smiled sullenly to himself. If only he could talk to Sirius, or Remus, or anyone who had known his parents. If only he could have a real family. 

He cursed himself for that thought. The Weaseleys had become his family, and he was entirely happy with them. But still, he couldn’t show face at the Burrow, and he wouldn’t really be marrying into the family. He hadn’t spoken with Ginny, and he wanted to, but he didn’t have to talk to her to know that they would not be getting back together. Their relationship ended when he left to find the Horcruxes, and oddly enough, he was not nearly as upset about it as he suspected he should have been. He wondered how Ginny herself was feeling. He wondered if she was grieving as much as he was. 

Harry lost track of time, sitting in the couch and mulling over every lost relationship in his life. His mind kept returning to the faces of his loved ones whom he had lost. Remus, Tonks, Sirius, George, it went on an on. There was really nothing for him to do except think about them. He couldn’t talk to them again, he couldn’t find the Resurrection Stone and bring them back. His face was blank as he stared into space. 

For the second time in three days, he did not realize he had fallen asleep. 

The Dream came to him again, and as he looked into Draco Malfoy’s shining, but vacant, eyes, he heard the faint whisper of his enemy: “Come find me.”

A week passed, and Harry was worse than ever. He had been on edge from his conversation with Kingsley, and was anxiously waiting for Ministry employees or journalists for the Daily Prophet to come knocking on his door. They never came, but the anxiety never left. There was something worse in waiting for them, Harry thought. He would much rather get it all over with. 

He had dreamt of Draco Malfoy every night. After the second dream, it had always been the same, always ending at “Come find me.” His voice was nothing but a whisper, but it was pleading and desperate. Harry had dreamt it so much that the words were playing on loop in his mind. Whenever he closed his eyes, he was looking into Malfoy’s. Those silver eyes haunted him, left him needing to know more. 

Those dreams, as strange as they were, began to comfort Harry in an unexpected way. Even though he was as confused as ever, and had no idea why he was dreaming about Malfoy of all people, he found that he was almost looking forward to returning to the dream. He had it memorized, but each time he dreamt, he found himself trying to learn more. 

So far, there had been nothing. It was simply the same dream, over and over. The repetition was nice; it meant Harry didn’t have to think about death. He could instead focus on the small details of the Dream: the way the path got dimmer, the way Malfoy’s face was shaped and framed, the way the trees in the Forbidden Forest seemed to guide him along. 

After a month, and nothing had still changed, Harry had grown fond of it. It was the only consistently nice thing in his life; it gave him something to think about. He felt like he was back at Hogwarts, following Malfoy on the Marauder's Map. Every time Malfoy looked into his eyes, and asked Harry to “Come find me,” Harry found himself mesmerised. It was odd. He thought he should have been more upset with the idea of Malfoy in his head – after all, he had had Voldemort in his head – but the more Harry dreamt, the more he felt like he knew Malfoy. He couldn’t explain it, but the dream had almost become familiar to him, and he wasn’t mad about it. 

A month had passed since the war had ended, and he had spent the entire time alone. Perhaps that was another reason he had grown fond of the Dream. He had been writing the Weaselys, but he still could not bring himself to actually go to the Burrow. He was asking an internal question that he did not want to answer. 

Harry had grown accustomed to loneliness. It was almost refreshing, cleansing for him. He did not have to face the world and its questions. He could simply reflect, feel, and live the way he wanted to live. He almost felt empowered, being on his own. For once in his life, no one could tell him what to do. He was not at the whim of a mentor or a government agency. For the first time, his life really felt like his. 

He had taken to cleaning Grimmauld. The place was larger than it seemed, and Harry had busied himself in making sure it was suitable for living. He stripped the peeling wallpaper in the foyer, cleaned the upholstery, and spent hours in every room dusting. He chose not to use magic; it helped clear his mind of things he couldn’t think about. 

He gave Saturdays to himself, and it was on one particular Saturday, when he was curled into an armchair with a dull book on Wizard theory, that Ron and Hermione returned through the Floo. Harry jumped out of his seat when they suddenly appeared in the sitting room, dusty and mildly bewildered at how the room looked. 

“Blimey, Harry, you’ve really had nothing to do,” Ron said, sounding impressed. “I reckon this isn’t how the room looked when we were here last.”

Harry scowled as he readjusted himself. Hermione sat on a chair opposite from him and joined Ron in looking around the room. “Really, Harry, it looks quite nice.” 

“You bloody scared me!” He said, not having enough energy to actually be mad with them. 

Hermione smiled warily and Ron grinned. “We wanted to surprise you.”

“How’re things at the Burrow?” Harry’s voice was almost desperate. 

“It’s been rough,” Ron said in a low voice as he sat down next to Hermione. “Mum’s trying to hide it, but she’s not doing too well.”

Harry’s heart sank. He didn’t want to think about Mrs. Weasely not doing well. She had always been one of those people who radiated joy. For some reason Harry thought that if she was sad, nothing else would ever be happy again.

“I mean, it’s been rough, but we’re getting better,” Ron paused. “None of us have gotten used to the empty spot at dinner, though.”

Hermione reached out and took Ron’s hand in hers. He gave her a sad smile and patted her hand. If the mood wasn’t so down, Harry would have laughed at the image of them already acting like an old married couple. Instead, he said, “I’m sorry I haven’t been there.”

“It’s alright, Harry, everyone understands.”

“Yeah, but something in me tells me I should have gone with you.”

“I’m not sure if you’d have wanted to be there, if you actually had come with us,” Hermione said gently. “Everyone has been mourning in their own ways.”

“Is Ginny alright?” The question almost fell from his mouth. 

“As fine as the rest of us.”

Harry nodded. 

Ron hesitated before he said, “Things are done between you two.”

Harry nodded again. Ron exhaled as he leaned back into his chair. “She told me to tell you she understands.”

Harry gave a half smile. “Thank you.”

An easy, but painful, silence lapsed between them. They were just sitting in the moment, not feeling the need to rush through anything. It was slightly odd for Harry to have company, even if the company was that of his two best friends. Even though he appreciated them being there, it felt strange actually having people in the house. 

Eventually, Hermione asked, “So, what have you been up to, Harry? Besides … redecorating, I mean.”

“Kingsly paid me a visit.” Harry recounted their conversation. He was glad it was Ron and Hermione he was telling, because they reacted to the story in exactly the way Harry had felt about it. 

“That’s so strange,” Hermione said when he was done. “He never seemed like that type.”

Harry shrugged. “No one’s actually showed up yet.”

“Don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

“Yes, actually. But I’m not mad about it.”

“I mean, do you actually want any of it?”

“Not really. It all just kind of seems … I dunno, not right.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah. Like we’re all trophies or something.”

“We’re?”

Ron looked sheepish and glanced at Hermione. “They offered me a position, too.”

“Ron, that’s brilliant!” Harry beamed. “Are you going to take it?”

“No, for the same reasons as you,” Ron paused. “It just … doesn’t feel right, like you said.”

Hermione looked at Harry. “Only, when Ron was asked, he got a letter. It’s interesting that Kingsley decided to pay you a visit. How did he get here, anyway?”

Harry considered this for a moment. “He must still have access to the wards from the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“I’d be careful, Harry. Something about that visit seems a little suspicious to me.”

“Actually, Hermione,” Harry said, suddenly remembering the Dream, “the visit wasn’t nearly as suspicious as this dream I’ve been having…” 

He told them about the Dream, but this time, their reactions were harder to understand. 

Ron broke the silence by asking, “Why Malfoy, though?”

“I dunno. I’ve been wondering the same thing.”

“Do you think it has anything to do with how Voldemort possessed you?” Hermione asked in a worried, but calculated tone. 

“I’m not sure.” Harry furrowed his eyebrows. “There can’t be any left of Voldemort in me – he made sure of that when he killed me.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged uncomfortable glances. Harry’s death had been a topic that they all had carefully avoided since the end of the battle. Even in the letters he had sent to the Burrow, he had always asked about them, and hadn’t wanted to talk much about himself. 

“Do you know anything about Malfoy’s whereabouts?” Harry was eager to switch the subject. 

“No, actually,” Hermione sounded slightly relieved. “The last I heard, he and his family left together during the battle.” 

“I might be able to dig something up. Being a pureblood, there are only a few places that they might have gone,” Ron added thoughtfully. “Although, I’m not sure if blood status carries any weight anymore. I mean, we’ve never really cared about it.”

Harry nodded. “That makes sense. If they escaped together, it’s possible that they’re in some pureblood safehouse, or something.”

Hermione considered this. “It might be possible, but Harry, this is all just speculation. We need to do some research if we really want to find out what’s going on.”

Harry felt a small amount of warmth needle its way into his heart. He was truly glad to be back with Hermione and Ron. Them thinking about the Dream, and working together to figure out the puzzle would certainly help them not dwell on the loss in their lives. It wasn’t an excuse to not think about any of it, but rather, a good way for them to perhaps accept the loss and move forward. None of them audibly acknowledged this, but Harry was sure that the other two would be as invested as he was, to work together again, solving mysteries. 

“You said Malfoy told you to ‘come find him’?” Hermione asked, leaning against the side of her armchair. She was idly playing with Ron’s hand. “I wonder what that means.”

“D’you think he’s actually missing?” Ron asked. 

“I mean, no one’s heard of him. It could be possible.”

“Yes, but again, this is all just speculation. Ron, is there anyone we can ask about the Malfoys?”

“Yeah, I can probably reach out to some great aunt … I think Weaselys are connected to Blacks somehow.” 

They spent the rest of the afternoon theorizing about Harry’s dream. While none of it was especially productive, Harry found that he felt better than he had in weeks, talking with Ron and Hermione. When they all were tired of going over the same bits of information, Harry decided he wanted to cook for them, and they continued talking as they ate. 

Ron and Hermione led themselves to a different spare room, and Harry made his way to his own room, and he was content. The lingering thoughts of death and loss were still with him, and he knew they would always be with him, but finally things seemed to be looking up. 

Harry lay in bed with the covers drawn to his chin, and he stared at the ceiling in the dark. It had turned out to be a fine day, and he couldn’t help but grin softly to himself. 

He closed his eyes, and immediately fell into sleep. The Dream came to him again, but instead of finding Malfoy in the room of light, where Harry had always met him, Malfoy was lost in darkness. Harry was an onlooker, and Malfoy did not see him. He had a panicked look on his face, illuminated by some strange light, and he was trying to move his way through some dark area. Harry felt the same panic in him, and in his dream-state, he tried to help, but the closer he got to Malfoy, the farther away he seemed. The dream ended in darkness, and Harry was left with anxiety. 

He woke up quietly and with unease. He was not sure how long he had slept, but it was still dark out, and he could not really see any of the details in the room. He grabbed his wand, Accio’d his glasses, and cast a quiet Lumos. The room was the same, but panic was still beating Harry’s heart for him. Quietly, he slipped out of his bed and made his way to the kitchen.

It would be no use to him to try and fall asleep again. Without thinking, he made himself a cup of coffee and sat down at the rickety kitchen table. Even though it had all ended, Harry couldn’t help but still feel the anxiety he had seen on Malfoy’s face. It was such a twisted expression, so different from teh one he had become accustomed to, and he was unsettled. Why had the Dream suddenly changed? He wondered if it had to with Hermione and Ron’s sudden appearance. 

In the back of his mind, he thought about Hermione’s suspicions. The new version of the dream was eerily similar to how Voldemort had tricked him into going into the Department of Mysteries. Only, this time, Harry had no idea where Malfoy actually was, or why he was appearing in his dreams in the first place. 

He was startled out of his thoughts by quiet and creaking footsteps coming down the stairs. He quickly stood from his chair and drew his wand, even though he knew it was just him, Ron, and Hermione. 

When Ron appeared from around the door frame, Harry sighed and settled back into his seat. Ron yawned and joined him. 

“What’re you doing up so early?” Ron asked, yawning again.

Harry shrugged. They were quiet. Harry was in no mood to describe the Dream again, and Ron seemed content with that. 

“Why are you up?”

“Heard you.”

“You know,” Harry paused, unsure of what he actually intended to say, “I hope you didn’t leave the Burrow on my account.”

“We didn’t.” Ron seemed slightly taken aback. “Bill and Fleur left the other day, George returned to the shop right before we left.”

“Oh.” Somehow, that made Harry feel worse. 

“It’s ok, Mate, really. Like Hermione said, we’re all just recovering at our own paces.”

“Yeah, I know. For some reason, I just can’t help but think I should be doing something.”

“What would you do?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just sort of … restless. Like there are people who need me, and I’m powerless to do anything. Especially you and your family.”

“We do need you, Harry, but we don’t need you to do anything for us. You’re family too.”

Harry smiled. He couldn’t meet Ron’s eyes. 

They sat together in silence until the sun rose, lighting the kitchen from the single window over the sink. It was going to be a nice day. After a while, Hermione joined them. She made herself some coffee and sat with the boys to drink it. 

“Hullo,” She said sleepily. 

“Hi,” Ron and Harry said in unison.

“Everything ok?”

Ron nodded and Harry shrugged. Hermione seemed to accept that, and she continued drinking her coffee in silence. It was nice, just spending time with Ron and Hermione again, even if they all were tired and not saying anything. Harry felt like he had the beginnings of a normal life. It was strange, suddenly, because he realized that for once, his life was in his hands. He had the right to choose a path for himself. It was never something that he had been able to, and while the thought was nice, it was also a little intimidating. 

Before long, Ron and Hermione started a small conversation between themselves, and Harry was more than happy to listen. And soon after, he was joining in, laughing with them and recounting good memories. Those two had the special ability to make Harry forget his troubles for a short while. It all felt very normal, and Harry loved it. 

The day continued nicely until Harry heard another knock on his door. He exchanged glances with Hermione and Ron, and went to answer it. Kingsley Shacklebolt had returned, and Harry met him with a scowl.

“Auror Shacklebolt,” he said. “What do you want?”

“I do not have time for pleasantries.” Kingsley said as he pushed past Harry and into the sitting room. “The Ministry needs your answer.”

“Didn’t I already tell you I wasn’t interested?”

“You told me, but they would not accept it.” He looked around, registering Ron and Hermione. “We need to speak.”

"All of us?"

Harry looked at him before his friends, and Kingsley continued, “Yes, all of you. This is a highly important matter, happening to concern you three.”

Ron was the first to move, sitting in a chair closest to Kingsley, and Hermione was right behind him. Harry joined them cautiously, and Kingsley was the last to sit. 

“Mr. Potter, when I came here a month ago, the Ministry had only just requested you for the Auror team. The same for you, Mr. Weasley. 

“This was, at first, an attempt to capitalize on Mr. Potter’s and Mr. Weasley’s fame. Ms. Granger, I will also have you know that the Ministry intended on asking you to join them as well, but they were unable to convey the message to you. 

“A month ago, plans were being made to reform the Ministry. This, Mr. Potter, is what I relayed to you that previous time we met. However, I am ashamed to admit now that I was not entirely honest with you at that time. Mr. Potter, I am sure you are aware that these personal visits are not common. Mr. Weasley, you received a letter extending invitation of employment to the Ministry – which is our standard procedure – and Ms. Granger, you never received yours. 

“The reason for these happenings is because of something that occurred within the Ministry shortly around the time of my visit to Mr. Potter. I can convey this to you, but only if you promise to keep it with you three.”

Kingsley looked at Harry with stern and serious eyes. Harry turned to his friends, who looked as intrigued and concerned as he felt. He nodded to Kingsley. 

Kingsley continued, “The Ministry has portrayed itself as a high-functioning institution for an extensive period of time. However, this has not been the case for many years, even before Voldemort returned to power. A small group of Ministry workers had formed a pact, finding their employment with the Ministry had become either unsustainable or unethical. The complaints started in a position of genuine upset, and at first, they were contained within the group of those few individuals. As time went on, however, and as Voldemort came into power again, they found strength in the faults they had found at the Ministry.

“These faults, of course, are valid complaints. These witches and wizards were complaining for many of the same reasons you articulated to me when I made my visit to you, Mr. Potter. And these complaints are issues that the Ministry has ignored for as long as they have claimed to be a high-functioning institution. I am sure how you can imagine the Ministry would treat these complaints, afraid of their own power being undermined.”

“Were you in that group?” Hermione asked. 

Kingsley smiled. “You seem to be as bright as ever, Ms. Granger. Yes. I was in that group. Under Cornelius Fudge, I was silent. I was working as a liaison between him and the members of the group who needed information on his plans.” 

“So it wasn’t just Aurors,” Harry said slowly. “People were finding faults within the entire Ministry.”

“Yes, that is correct. It also happened that many of these group members were in the original Order of the Phoenix.” 

“So, my dad, too?” Ron asked.

“Yes. He, like me, kept quiet about his complaints. Although, there seemed to be more at risk for him to openly join the group, than there ever was for me. 

“However, the members of this group are not nearly as important as how they were treated, or rather, how they were ignored. It was no secret that we were meeting. The minister himself was suspicious of me, always holding me at an arm’s length; my spying on him acted as a two-way street that I was well aware of. However, even though the higher-ups were well aware of our meetings, they never addressed them. We would write letters of complaint and speak directly with the Minister and his staff, but we never received fulfilling responses. The answer always seemed to allude to the fact that they were too busy with other matters to hear us.

“When Voldemort returned to power, many other members of the group used the external conflicts to put more focus into their internal conflicts. When Thicknesse took his power, these members saw the opportunity to mutiny within the Ministry. These small uprisings were not dealt with during the war, because Thicknesse and his Death Eaters were trying to undermine them to the rest of the Ministry. It was a time of deep unrest.

“As soon as the war was over, those members of this group took control of the Ministry. They appointed their own Minister, and have been trying to make reforms ever since. 

“However, Mr. Potter, when I came to you a month ago, it was not because I ever intended to force you into a position. The new minister, a woman named Yvonne Stitch, has placed me as Head Auror. She was the leader of the rebellions when the group was first starting to riot.”

Hermione frowned, “But what was the purpose of appointing a new Minister if the reasons for the protests were so flawed to begin with?”

“The answer to that question follows the reason I have come. When I spoke to Mr. Potter, Minister Stitch had personally asked me to visit him. At that time, I was being monitored to make sure that Mr. Potter accepted. Minister Stitch is under the impression that the only way for the Ministry to reform is to have Mr. Potter, as well as you two, join its ranks.”

“But Harry denied the Ministry’s offer. I did too,” Ron said. “Why monitor him at all if he said no?”

“Minister Stitch has been trying to understand Mr. Potter’s position in the world. She has been restraining the Prophet and she has been trying to get insight into where Mr. Potter is.”

“So she sent you to spy on me?”

“In not so pleasant terms, yes. However, I did not do as she had asked. When you denied her offer, Mr. Potter, I did not tell her. I told her instead that you needed time to think about it. She subjected me to Veritaserum and I had to eventually tell her the truth. She was … unforgiving, to say the least.”

“Did you sacrifice your position for me?” Harry asked quietly.

Kingsley smiled. “Mr. Potter, I have acted on my own volition. I intend to protect you from the Ministry, even if it means that I no longer employ there.”

“Why are you here now?” Hermione interjected. “Surely Minister Stitch would be watching you if she fired you, especially considering you were a major part in helping that group.”

Kingsley nodded. “Again, very perceptive. She has been keeping an eye on me. However, it really should not be a concern for you. I fully accepted her eyes when I made the decision to lie to her about Mr. Potter’s whereabouts.”

“But why did you lie for me? What are you protecting me from?” Harry’s voice sounded defensive even to him. 

“The reason I am here again, Ms. Granger and Mr. Potter, is because Minister Stitch is under the impression that you, Mr. Potter, have something to do with the event that happened most recently." 

Harry opened his mouth to argue against that statement, his eyebrows furrowed, but Kingsley gestured for him to wait.

“After I spoke with you for the first time, some members of the Department of Mysteries experienced … a disruption. This disruption has caused the Department of Mysteries to be unraveled, and they are currently not at a functioning capacity. They discovered something that has the potential to uproot the entire system, and this is something Minister Stitch is not fond of. She has not addressed the chaos, but rather, has plans to let the Department of Mysteries destroy itself.”

“But how does any of this have to do with us?” Hermione interjected.

Kingsley looked her straight in the eye as he spoke. “They discovered that Mr. Potter still remains the Master of Death.”

Harry felt his heart sink. How could that be possible? He had thrown away the stone and broken the wand. The cloak was the only thing he had not had the will to destroy or throw away; it was the only thing he had from his father. Was the cloak the tie between him and Death? If he had severed that, would he have been free? 

Kingsley continued, “It is under my impression that Mr. Potter retrieved all three of the Deathly Hallows. It has come to the attention of the Ministry that the act of his destroying the Elder Wand has broken the cycle that the Hallows had created; because there is no way to pass on the title to any living person, Harry remains the Master of Death.”

Hermione practically jumped out of her seat and began pacing around the room. “How is this possible? There was no logical proof that the Hallows actually turned the owner into the Master of Death – it was just a story.”

“Ms. Granger, logic is not the answer to every problem. The Hallows were, as we knew, true in their ability to name their owner the Master of Death.”

Hermione began arguing about this with Kingsley, and he answered her every complaint with courtesy. Ron turned to Harry. 

“What does this mean, Mate?”

“I’m not sure,” Harry groaned. “I thought it would all be over when I broke the wand. I never wanted any of this.” 

Ron had an odd look on his face. “Do you think Kingsley’s telling the truth?”

Harry considered this for a second. “Maybe, but I don’t really see any reason that he would lie to me. After all, you and Hermione both thought his visit was weird.” 

“It was weird, sure, but not this weird.”

Harry nodded. He waited until Hermione seemed to be done, and interjected himself back into the conversation. “How did the Department of Mysteries find this all out?”

Kingsley turned to him with kind eyes. “You will have to ask them yourself. My confidante would not tell me the reason.” 

The room went quiet for a second. Hermione broke it with another question: “But why does this fact affect the fate of the Ministry? Does Minister Stitch believe Harry would try to overthrow the government?”

“In a manner of speaking, yes. She believes the power Mr. Potter holds is enough to overthrow her position. She does, however, still faintly hold on to the idea that Mr. Potter can help her cause. Her immediate goal will be to bring Mr. Potter into the Ministry, even though I told her he has no interest in joining.”

Harry frowned. “I’m guessing I’m back to being Undesirable No. 1.”

“Actually, in this case it would be Desirable No. 1.” 

Harry shot Ron a glare, and Ron put his hands up in guilty defense. 

“Mr. Potter, the reason I have returned to your house is to tell you to pursue this information. It is in your control what you do with this power, but no matter what you choose, you will need to speak with my confidante. She will be able to give you the information you need to make your decision.”

“Who is she?”

“She has asked me not to reveal her name, lest Minister Stitch still be listening to my conversations.” 

“But that means I’m expected at the Ministry. I can’t just bloody walk in and demand to speak with the Department of Mysteries.”

“No, you can’t,” Kingsley responded with a sad smile. “But I will attempt to help you in any way I can.”

“So how do you recommend I get in?”

“I believe that is an issue that you have solved before.” 

Harry, Ron, and Hermione exchanged sheepish glances. Kingsley was looking at them fondly. A minute or so passed, and he finally stood. The three of them stood with him. 

“I am afraid I need to be leaving now. I want to help, Mr. Potter, but I am still on the run as of now. I hope we will be in contact again.”

Harry nodded and he stood to see Kingsley off. It was interesting to him how quickly his trust in Kingsley had returned to him. All of the information he had been told made sense in some strange way, even if it didn’t seem to follow any kind of logic. 

Was it really his place to overthrow the government? Did he even want to? He did find problems with the Ministry, but were they enough to completely change the system? Harry’s head was swimming with these questions; his vision even seemed cloudy with these questions on his mind. 

“Before I go, however, I want to tell you where to find my confidante within the Ministry. When you are ready to see her, speak to me, and I will make sure she will be in the main room of the Department of Mysteries. Because there is so much chaos happening around it, there will surely be advanced security measures in place. To arrive at the Department of Mysteries, you will need a way in that is not through the main Floo network, or through the main elevators. You will need to enter and exit in secret; no one should know that you are there. My confidante will be sure to escort you out safely. Send a patronus when you decide to speak to her, and I will work with her to put it all in place.”

“Will the Ministry track my patronus when I send one?”

“They should not be able. I am living in a secret location as of right now, and the patronus will find me on its own accord.” 

Harry nodded and shook Kingsley’s hand in goodbye. Kingsley said his goodbyes to Hermione and Ron, and then Apparated when he was outside of the house. The three of them heard the faint pop of his departure, and they sat in silence. 

Harry and Hermione found their way back into chairs. Ron sank into his, letting his chin rest on his chest and his arms drape on his side. He had an odd look of bewilderment on his face. Hermione, on the other hand, looked unsettled and angry. It was clear to Harry that she was itching for explanations, more information, or anything that could offer a valid explanation for what Kingsley had told them. Harry admitted to himself that the information Kingsley had provided had only left him with more questions. 

“I’m sorry, Harry, but do you really believe any of this?” Hermione sputtered. 

“I’m not sure. None of it sounds too probable.”

“What, that you’re the Master of Death?”

“I guess.”

“I mean, think about it, ‘Mione. We found out that the Hallows were true, it makes sense that Harry could be the Master of Death, whatever that actually means.”

“The ‘Master of Death,’ Ron,” Hermione said with an unsteady breath, “Is a title given to someone who has power over death. It means that Harry is essentially immune to Death’s claims of him. He will only die on his terms.”

“What … does that mean?” Harry asked, his breath catching in his chest. 

“I ... think means that in order for you to die, you need to genuinely ask Death for it. As long as you have a reason to live, you will be immune to Death; it could be as small a reason as wanting to keep a plant alive, or it could be that you want to learn all there is in the universe. It is not so much a position of power over Death, but a mutual agreement that your life is not Death’s until you want it to be.”

“So if I said I wanted to die just because I want to die, I would still live.”

“Something like that.” 

Harry gave her a pointed look. “But I want to die eventually. I just want a normal life.” 

“You’re not immortal, if that’s what you mean. If this is even true.”

“But then how does any of that work? How would Death even ... when would I want to die?”

Hermione looked pained. “I think it's different for different people, but Harry, I have no idea what this even means." Harry glared at her and she kept going. "Like, you would be ready to die at a different ... place than someone else. I think Voldemort ... was there when he created seven horcruxes, but because he never possessed the Hallows, he was never able to access his power.”

“So it has to do with killing.”

“I mean that makes sense, especially if it’s a power about dying,” Ron added. “I don’t think you’d be the Master of Death by frolicking through flowers.”

Hermione gave a grim smile. “No, I don’t think that would be the case either.”

“So essentially what you’re telling me is that I have to be a mass murderer in order to die,” Harry scoffed. “I’m already the Boy Who Lived, and now I have to become the Man Who Kills So He Can Die.”

Hermione was silent for a moment before she said, “I think that would be the case, yes.”  
Harry slumped back into his chair and massaged his temples. If he really was the Master of Death, there was nothing appealing about any of it. He did not want to live forever, he just wanted to live. Live, and then die, like any other normal person. He didn’t understand why he had been the one to be so special. Why had Death chosen him of all people to live forever? There were so many others more deserving of the gift, others who actually wanted to live forever.

It all seemed ironic, in a sick way. Neither can live while the other survives. It was a line that was playing on repeat in Harry’s mind. It was almost funny how his battle with Voldemort had been so definitive for his life. He had killed Voldemort with the Hallows, but if the prophecy was true, and if Hermione was right, it meant that perhaps Voldemort was the only person to kill him. It was almost funny how perhaps he would take Voldemort’s place, but instead of killing to live, he would be killing to die. It was a thought that sickened him, making his stomach physically curl at the idea. 

He had always assumed that by killing Voldemort, he would be somehow given a normal life, but maybe that wasn’t actually the case. He almost scoffed at the idea of a normal life. How had he expected his life to be normal, after everything he had been through? His life had never been normal, and it was starting to dawn on him that it might never actually be. It was possible that he was fated for a life that he didn’t want: a life that set him against the odds and put him in the hands of abnormality. 

“I … don’t want to kill people,” Harry eventually said emphatically. “We have to find a way to figure out if I can get rid of it.”

“If, of course, you actually are the Master of Death,” Hermione reminded. “So that brings us back, do you actually trust what Kingsley said?”

“It does kind of make sense.”

“Who do you think his confidante is?” Ron asked excitedly. “No one really knows anything about the Department of Mysteries.”

“It could be anyone, I guess,” Harry speculated. “But how do we even talk to her?”

“Is there a way to get into the Ministry without going through the Floo or the elevators?”

“I don’t know, why are you looking at me?”

“You’re supposed to know everything.”

“I don’t know everything, Ron, but apparently I am the only one who actually reads, for Merlin’s sake.”

Harry listened to Hermione and Ron bicker. Their arguing simply made him feel worse. It just wasn’t doing anything for the anxiety he had seemed to develop in the past few minutes. There was so much pressure around him, again, that his head was hurting. He was glad, though, that it wasn’t his scar.  
Thinking about it, his scar hadn’t actually hurt at all, not even an itch. Harry had almost forgotten it existed, if not for the fact that he saw it etched on his face in his every reflection. He vaguely wondered if it would fade over time, if he still had the ability to speak in Parseltongue. It seemed to be the last remaining part of Voldemort, but Voldermort was long dead. As far as  
Harry was concerned, his scar was a bit of dead skin that served the only purpose of reminding him of his supposed victory. He could very well live without it. 

“Alright, fine! That doesn’t work. I don’t care,” Ron was saying. Harry didn’t bother to find out what Ron was wrong about. “But have we considered the drains?”

“Under the Ministry?” Hermione paused. “Would that actually be a way in?”

“I mean, it could be. I think there’s a pipe system connected to all the toilets.”

Hermione made a face. “That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

“No,” Ron admitted. “But it might be an option.”

“Where do the pipes lead?” Harry added. 

“They go all over. There’s a drain system under the main building, but pipes go through the whole Ministry. I actually think there’s a couple different systems: one for drainage, one for sending messages, and another one for air conditioning or heating. Stole that one from the Muggles, I’d assume.”

“Would your dad know anything about the pipes?”

“He might, but you’d have better luck with Percy. When he got his letter of invitation, he challenged himself to learn everything about the Ministry to prove he was the best candidate.” 

“Where is Percy?”

“He should be back at the Burrow.”

“I guess I could talk to him.”

“Don’t you think that these are an awful lot of hurdles to leap, Harry, just to prove that Kingsley is telling the truth? Let’s say we break into the Ministry, find the confidante, and she just tells us he’s lying. What happens then?”

“We know whether or not he was telling the truth. To be honest, that will be enough for me. I don’t want to be the Master of Death. If I have to leap hurdles to find out, I’d rather do that than stew in doubt.”

Hermione nodded, but it was clear to Harry that she was unhappy with his answer. But for once, Harry was filled with a sense of determination. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt since his determination to kill Voldemort. It was the feeling of moving forward, taking steps out of a gloom. 

“Ron, when can I talk to Percy?”

“Probably over the weekend. He’ll actually be at home, resting. He takes weekends off now to spend time with Mum and Dad.”

Harry nodded. “I can send a letter saying I’ll stop by. I guess the wait will give us some time to come up with the things we want to ask about the Ministry. Until then, though, I’m not really sure there’s anything to do.”

“I wouldn’t mind taking it easy for a little bit,” Ron said thoughtfully. “It would be nice just to relax before shit hits the Hippogriff.”

Hermione nodded and sighed. They all sat together in silence for a little bit, processing their thoughts and their plans. It felt good to make plans again. It was giving Harry back some of the direction he had lost in his time alone after the battle. And even though Harry was uneased with the idea of being the Master of Death, the idea that he might be able to figure it all out was enough to keep him moving forward. 

That night, he didn't Dream. When he woke, he felt peace in the promise of some kind of change, in the promise of the plans he, Ron, and Hermione would come up with. Strangely enough, he missed not looking into Malfoy's eyes.


	2. Draco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco finds himself in an uncomfy situation and makes his plans known to the audience.

The only thing he saw was darkness. 

It was the closest to Nothing he had ever been, and it was not pleasant. He was lying on a cold and hard surface, supposedly facing up. But there was no such thing as up, and there was no such thing as direction: the only thing Draco knew was Darkness. 

He took a deep breath: he was still breathing oxygen. That air filled his lungs and calmed his racing thoughts. It was good that his body was still working. He nudged his foot – he was wearing clothes! He had felt the fabric of a sock rub against his ankle and the hem of trousers brush against his leg in his movement. He couldn’t feel anything in the immediate area around him, so he nudged his foot a little further. Still nothing. 

He moved his hands – which were rested on his stomach – onto the flat surface below him. It was colder than he had originally thought, and then he realized that the clothes he was wearing had probably acted as a barrier between him and whatever surface he was lying on. He ran his fingers over the smooth texture, trying to feel for any kind of bump. There was nothing. 

Tentatively, he pushed himself up, so that he thought he was in a sitting position. He felt like he was still the same height – why wouldn’t he be? It was coming back to him, slowly, and in little bits at a time. 

There was an ornate gate. In his memory, it was made of perfectly cast iron, and unflawed even though it looked incredibly old. On the right, there had been a devilish figure – or at least something that resembled a devilish figure – and on the left there had been its opposite. In the center, above the gap where it opened, was an inscription in Latin, set in a curling banner: Nihil Tibi Exspectat. In hindsight, it should have been a warning to him. 

He remembered pushing through it, the doors opening at his slightest touch. The darkness that had been behind the gate was sunshine compared to the Darkness that was then surrounding him. He had walked through confidently, and proceeded to black out – physically and metaphorically. 

He laughed to himself, grimly, at the thought of him passing out. One needed to keep a sense of humour in a situation such as his. Was there even a difference between blacking out and consciousness if the world around him was too dark to comprehend? The thought was funny, in some twisted way. 

Slowly, he stretched his arms above him. He still felt nothing. He moved them then in a wide arc, and still felt nothing. Slowly, very slowly, he moved from his sitting position into a standing one. He was fairly confident that there would be nothing in that position, too, and he was correct. 

When he was fully standing, he heard a soft “ding” come from somewhere unknown. He turned his head to the sound, and felt compelled to walk towards it. His body almost moved on its own accord, walking with slow and tentative steps, but still pressing forward in what he hoped was a straight line. He was unsure for how long he had actually walked, but after a long time, his feet began to hurt and his limbs ached. He sat down again.

It was almost as if he hadn’t moved at all. Everything was the same: Nothing. The itching feeling of loneliness was creeping up his spine, making him yearn for some kind of human connection. He was sure he had only been awake for a few hours – if hours even existed in that plane of existence – but the vast emptiness of the entire space was finally catching up to him. 

His mind wandered to his mother, his father. Their faces still clung in his mind like a welcome summer breeze. His mother was smiling at him, his father looking at him with that special twinkle in his eye. 

It was a memory of his from before the war, before the Death Eaters. It was a time when they were actually happy as a family, a time of relative calmness and prosperity. He had just turned fourteen, and they had cake. He had insisted on something homemade that year, tired of the same boutique-y confection his mother had always insisted on ordering for him. She had smiled at his request, very much against his expectation, and they sat all picknicked together at the shore. 

That had happened so long ago, but as Draco was thinking about it, he felt the same things he had when he experienced it the first time. It really was the last time any of the three of them had been happy: that summer the Death Eaters returned at the Quidditch World Cup, his father among them. It was a side to his father that had only been hinted at, always under the guise of pureblood pride. 

Draco himself had that pride, for a long time, before he agreed to take the Mark. It was still etched into his skin, but the ideas behind it were lackluster and bare – somehow it all seemed so pointless. He had admired his father for so long: his poise, his elegance, his bravery in the face of those who spoke against him. He had always seemed so impressive to Draco, how he dealt with conflict and put his family first. However, the man that Draco saw snivelling at the hands and feet of the Dark Lord was not the man he knew as his father. The same grace and poise, the same care for his family, had somehow all twisted in his father’s mind. In his eyes, Voldemort was the only way that they were guaranteed safety. 

He himself had been allusioned by status and by safety. He had been tricked into thinking Voldemort’s path was the only way; but he was only a child. Even if, by wizard terms, he was an adult, he did not feel like one. And even then, his circumstances had aged him far beyond his physical years. 

It was another grimly funny thought that his happy memory of his parents was suddenly tainted by his newer reflections; how quickly those happy thoughts had been replaced by the cold void of his mind. 

Immediately, that thought put him on edge: Dementors. He pat his trouser pockets, trying to feel his wand. Why hadn’t he looked for it early? Stupid! He felt it, pulled it out, and gripped it tightly. 

“Lumos,” he whispered, trying to calm his shaking breath. 

The minimal light that came from the wand made him feel worse. It showcased the surrounding darkness, the suffocating loneliness. There were no Dementors, really, but the atmosphere emanated their same energy. In the back of his mind, he wondered if he was in the place the Dementors called home. He shivered, and dulled his wand again; Darkness actually seemed preferable than that grim view into nothing. 

He kept walking, but the lingering feeling of unease walked with him. His strides were longer, and his feet started to hurt. It will be worth it, in the end, he reminded himself.

He was unsure of how long he had actually walked, when, in the distance, he finally saw Something. It was a tiny silver light, but it was enough to excite him again. For the first time in – how long had he actually been down there? – he was excited. It was a feeling he wanted to hold on to, to never let out of his arms. After experiencing Nothing, that light was all he had. 

He felt himself running towards it. He felt the muscles in his legs tensing from the sudden exercise. His heart was barely keeping up with his ragged breaths. His laboured chest rose and fell too quickly to be fine, but all of these sensations were enough to keep him forward. It was so close – almost at his fingertips – he was about to touch the light. 

And soon, he made it. It stood before him like it was the entrance to heaven. He had to squint, to cover his eyes with a weary raised hand, but it was there. It was shining: it was white. He turned around, and looked a final time at the Black Nothing, silently and gladly wishing it goodbye. He stepped into the light, and found himself in a room. 

It was a white room, but it wasn’t too bright to look at. There were no windows or doors – how had he gotten in? Would he be able to leave? The only furnishing was an old Muggle rotary telephony – or whatever it was called – resting on a table. It wasn’t plugged in, but as Draco stared at it, the more he wanted to touch it. Against his better judgement, he walked to it. 

As he stepped up to the table, the telephone rang. Tentatively, he reached out and picked it up. 

“Hello, Draco,” said the soothing female voice at the other end of the speaker. 

“Hello.”

“I’ve been expecting you here. I’m glad you finally made it.”

“You have?”

“Yes. I was worried you might have missed it. I am on a schedule, after all.” 

“Oh.” Draco blinked, even though he was the only one in the room. “Who are you?”

The voice seemed to smile. “I’m Death, dear.” 

“You’re – death.” 

“Death, not death. There is a difference, even though it’s small.”

“Why were you waiting for me?”

“I know what your quest is, dear. I know what you’re looking for.”

“Can you help me?” Draco’s voice was eager, even though he did not intend it to be. 

“You will need my help. But I’m afraid I cannot help you right at this moment.”

“Oh.”

“Worry not: we will meet soon enough. There is a plan for you, darling.”

“So … what am I supposed to do?”

“You have to keep searching. When you find me, I will be able to help you.”

“How will I find you?”

The voice smiled again. “That, my dear, is what you need to search for.”

“How long will I need to search?”

“Until you are ready. Don’t worry, Draco. I will be here for you when the time is right.”

Draco paused. “Why not now?”

“As I said, I’m afraid my schedule is a bit tight. But for you, your agenda is on your own time.” 

“I don’t understand–”

“You will, darling, you will.” 

Draco felt heat rising to his cheeks. He felt the need to tap his foot, but forced himself not to. Instead, he took a deep breath before he continued: “Why bother talking to me at all, if all you tell me is to ‘keep searching’?” 

The line was silent. He looked at the thing with disdain. He should have known Death would not be clear for him. Truthfully, he hadn’t known what to expect. He had known he would have had to speak with them at some point – but it just hadn’t happened the way he wanted. 

He blinked, and a wave of tiredness fell over him. He felt himself sitting down, overcome with the need to sleep. He wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but as he sank to the ground, the room around him morphed into an empty white space. There was a pillow beneath his neck. He closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.  
It was the kind of sleep where he felt like he was awake. His mind was restless and his body was still. He tried to lift his finger, tried to make any sort of movement, but he couldn’t. 

Was he dead? Had Death claimed him already? No, he couldn’t be – he was still thinking and processing things. His eyes darted back and forth in their own darknesses, and he was overcome by his own inner monologue. 

And then – suddenly – he heard a faint noise in the distance. It was the sound of a forest, the sound of trees, and things moving in them. It calmed him, in an odd way, and he was able to focus his breathing to the sound of the leaves moving. How was this happening? 

The sound grew stronger, until he thought he could hear someone walking, the sound of footsteps. The sounds of the forest faded into the footsteps against whatever surface he was lying on. They sounded cold, and hollow, and returned his anxieties to him. The footsteps brought with them the feeling of a presence. Draco heard hitched breathing – was this being alive? Or was it Death, actually coming to take him? The presence lingered over him for a moment. He felt it getting closer, but otherwise not moving towards him. The presence sort of pulled at him, and Draco felt his eyes open. 

He stared into the confused face of Harry Potter, whose hand was stretched out towards Draco’s face. He wanted to curse at the other boy; tell him to sod off and get the hell out of his face. Why would the Saviour be there, if not to mock him? He felt heat rising to his cheeks, but when he tried to raise his fist at his nemesis, he still found that he could not move. Instead, he stared at Potter, and tried to channel all his anger in his eyes. 

It didn’t seem to work; Potter just stared back at him, mouth slightly agape and eyebrows furrowed. Those green eyes – hidden by those ferocious glasses and unruly fringe – those eyes were too green. They were the only color Draco had seen since his Descent. He couldn’t pull his eyes away. 

And then he was able to blink, and the scene was gone. 

Draco had returned to his Blackness. Was he still alive? Had any of that actually happened? 

His heart was beating wildly, and he immediately scowled, even though there was no reason. What the hell was Potter, of all people, doing in this place? Was it not enough for him to be the Saviour of the wizarding world? Draco let out an angry grunt as he tried to kick something, but there was nothing for him to kick.  
Stupid Potter, with his stupid hair and his stupid green eyes – always interfering where he didn’t belong. The last time he had looked into those eyes – Draco deepened his frown. There was no doubt about it – his mind was bringing Potter into this world, as punishment for their last interaction. He would never forget the look on Potter’s face as he had pulled him from the Fiendfyre. 

He would never forget looking back, and not seeing Vincent. He would forever remember holding onto Potter as they rushed out of the Room of Requirement. He would always remember the nod that they had shared before going their separate ways. 

Of course he would bring Potter with him into the Underworld. It was enough that he was trying to find Vincent, but he didn’t need the constant reminder that Potter had saved him once. What was he trying to do, save him again? He didn’t need saving. For once, he, Draco, would be the one to be a saviour.  
He let out another grunt of frustration and punched into the darkness – it was the only thing he could do. He would get the chance to be a saviour, if, of course, he was actually still alive. He took a deep breath and steadied himself. He focused his attention to his feet touching the ground – he was still wearing clothes. He pat his pockets – he still had his wand. If he had his wits, he would be able to rid Potter from his head, and set his mind to finding Vince.


	3. Harry: Plans Come Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas!! Here’s a surprise for you!!
> 
> This chapter doesn’t have much drarry in it. 
> 
> Plans come together for breaking into the Ministry. Something unexpected and happy happens amidst the turmoil

Recap: Kingsley Shacklebolt pays Harry a visit, telling him about how dysfunctional the Ministry has become. He also tells Harry that he is the Master of Death. Harry & the gang plan on meeting with Percy Weasely to learn more about the pipelines under the Ministry. They start their plan on getting into the Ministry. Several months have gone by after the war. Harry mourns his losses & Draco appears in his dreams. But why? 

…

Harry’s nights were restless leading up to the weekend. Percy had written back quickly and cordially, telling him that he eagerly awaited their arrival. Harry’s ideas were bouncing around his brain. He had started making notes of anything they might need going in. After all, they had infiltrated the Ministry before. That had gone alright, considering everything else. 

When Saturday finally came, Harry met Hermione and Ron in the foyer. They stared at each other for a minute before separately Apparating to the Burrow. 

They stood in front of the door. Hermione grabbed Ron’s hand and squeezed it as he led them in. The place was the same, physically, but Harry was overwhelmed with its silence. Gone were the bustling sounds from the kitchen, gone were people running around, gone were the sounds of people chatting and laughing. Harry stood in the hall while Ron went and looked for Percy. 

He stared at the clock placed so prominently by the stairs. It ticked steadily as ever, except for one hand that stood still. Fred’s hand was rusted and stationary in its spot: Elsewhere. That spot left Harry nearly breathless. His heart, which had begun to feel complete again, was suddenly repierced by sickening loss. Seeing the clock brought all of his sadness back to him, and he had to stumble to a chair to compose himself. He sunk his head in his hands and tried to catch his breath. 

He almost wanted to turn back, go back to Grimmauld. He knew it was too early for him. He knew him showing up would only be a reminder of the war, of all the death at his hands. The Weasleys were his family, sure, but even they would have to admit that he was at fault. How would they treat him? How would they see him? Surely he would just pour salt on their wounds: he was surely a replacement son they never asked for. Maybe they thought he was responsible for Fred’s death. Hell, even he himself thought he was responsible! 

He was pulled out of his thoughts by the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen. He raised his head to see Mr. Weasley gathering things for tea. 

Mr. Weasley turned to Harry with a sad smile. “Hello, Harry, dear boy.” 

Harry stood. “Can I help?”

“Of course.”

Harry walked over to Mr. Weasley and helped set the mugs. They worked in the Muggle way, taking their time to prepare each thing. They were silent. 

When the tea was done, Mr. Weasley magicked some of the mugs upstairs, and sat himself at the table. Harry joined him and took a tentative sip. They sat in silence for a long time, and Harry stewed in his misery. He let it take over his heart and his head. He felt heavy, like it had all suddenly become too much to handle. He absent-mindedly stirred his tea. 

“Mr. Weasley – I’m so sorry.”

Mr. Weasley looked up at him in confusion. “Whatever for?”

“I –” Harry paused, his voice wavering, “ – should have visited earlier, I should have done something, I feel responsible for everything, and … I’m … I –”

Mr. Weasley smiled his sad smile again. “It’s quite alright, Harry. These are difficult times indeed, but they are not your fault.”

Harry stared into his mug. Guilt tugged at his heart like he was a marionette, dancing on some poorly constructed cardboard set. The audience was made of his worries, and he was a vessel for his demons’ entertainment. He was their puppet. 

Mr. Weasley continued, “We don’t blame you, Harry. We’ve never blamed you.”

Harry sheepishly looked him in the eye. “Why?”

“You … were not Voldemort’s evil. You never were.”

“But he was part of me.”

“And you only ever fought to stop him. You have a good heart, Harry, and you’re a good man.”

Harry paused, “How are you? Holding up, I mean.”

Mr. Weasley took a sip of his tea. “I’m surviving. We’re adapting. Healing, slowly.”

Harry nodded. “Ron said that, too.”

“Our world is recovering. It’s been scarred and burnt down, but people are slowly coming back to their lives. We were just part of the unfortunate number who experienced all the suffering first hand.” 

Harry nodded again. “How is Mrs. Weasley?”

“She’s been … sleeping a lot. I’ve been doing a lot of the cooking. Not as good as hers, but no one’s complaining.”

They fell silent. Harry stared into his mug. The tea was not at all comforting. He had no clue what he was going to do. In that moment, he wanted to push aside all his own problems and just help the Weasleys. But he couldn’t say anything, and he couldn’t bring himself to get out of his chair. 

The silence was disrupted by Ron, Hermione, and Percy coming down the stairs. Harry hadn’t realized Hermione had gone with Ron until he saw her again. Percy looked worn-down and beaten up. He had bags under his eyes, thinly veiled by his thick glasses. He nodded at Harry in greeting. Ron pulled up a chair next to Mr. Weasley, with his own tea in hand. Hermione sat next to Harry. 

“Percy’s agreed to help us,” Ron said. 

“I don't condone –” Percy looked between Ron and Mr. Weasley in question. Ron nodded and gave a half-shrug. “I don’t condone lawlessness, Harry. But I’m sure you’ve become aware of the happenings at the Ministry right now.”

“What’s going on? Besides the rebellion.”

Percy finally sat down. “There have been rumours of Minister Stitch working with Dark wizards. She’s kept much of her plans on the down low. As a Minister, no one knows what she intends to do.” 

“Aren’t you her assistant?”

“Yes. I’ve seen glimpses of mysterious files and heard whispers of something boiling underneath the surface. But she’s kept me out of her business. I’m as good as a secretary.” Percy scoffed. 

Hermione interjected, “But didn’t she come to power as part of the revolt against Dark wizards? Why would she be working with them now?”

“It’s true that she led the rebels in overthrowing Thicknesse. There’ve been rumours of her only helping to solidify her own power.” 

“Something just doesn't sit right with me about this,” Harry said. “Kingsley never alluded to her working with Dark wizards.”

“He wouldn’t know. He’s almost dead to her.”

“Dad, weren’t you part of the initial rebellion? Did you notice anything strange about her?” Ron asked. 

Mr. Weasley sighed. “I was part of it. I never got too close to her, though. I tried to lay low. I don’t have as much authority as Kingsley, and we all know how Minister Stitch treated him. I was worried for the rest of you, but I couldn’t stay silent.”

“What led you to be part of the rebellion?” Hermione asked gently. 

“Things changed for the worse when Thicknesse took power. Ministry workers, including myself, were being required to work for Dark wizards under Voldemort. They stripped our wages to a minimum and worked us ‘till our fingers broke. They kept information from us, from the press,” Mr. Weasley paused. “But of course, I knew the truth about Voldemort’s return. In the Order, we had been talking about it happening long before he actually returned. And I knew you, Harry, and what you were going through. I couldn’t be silent.”

“And now these same things seem to be happening under Minister Stitch.”

“Yes. She’s been very strict about what information she releases. She’s kept a tight grip on the workers, but a lot of people prefer her to the past alternatives. They see her as the face of progress.”

“And even worse, she’s been saying that she wants things to change, but we haven’t seen anything happen,” Percy added. “Not even inklings.”

“Is no one suspicious of her?” Hermione asked in bewilderment. “If the same issues are happening again, surely there is unrest.”

“Few are. They were blinded by the rebellion. And a lot of us just want all the trouble to be over.”

Harry nodded and scoffed. He understood that feeling better than anyone. He had lived a life of trouble, seeming to never stop. He was ready to hang up his coat, go to bed, and wake up to a peaceful morning. He was living a life beyond his control, one that needed him to take action. As long as there were ties to Voldemort and to Dark wizards, Harry would be on edge. 

And still, he couldn't bring himself to thinking about being an Auror. After hearing everything from Mr. Weasley and Kingsley, he knew he would not be able to rest until the Ministry was made better. But how could it be better? Minister Stitch had risen with the same idea that it needed to be reformed. And she was supposedly just reinforcing the same issues as before. She was making it turn all into a vicious cycle of power and people suppressed because of that power. How could something be better in that system? The whole thing would need to go down, but there had to be some kind of law. He certainly would not know how to administer anything. How would he? He was just … himself. He never intended to be a lawmaker, or a leader. These were things thrust on him, expected for him. 

But thinking about all of it, he was faced with a new determination to establish real reform. How could he put a better system in place if he had no intention of being its head? 

He realized that he trusted the things Mr. Weasley and Percy were telling him. They had no reason to lie to him. Even though he still thought he was responsible for their recent suffering, he did not want them to suffer at the hands of the Ministry. And they, without asking about it, had confirmed much of what Kingsley had said earlier. In Harry’s mind it was undeniable that things needed to change. 

But if Kingsley had told the truth about the happenings in the Ministry, did that also mean he had told the truth about Harry being the Master of Death?

“Percy,” Harry finally said, “You said you would help us?”

“Yes. I can help you get into the Ministry.”

“And you can make sure that we won’t be seen.”

“I can try.”

Harry looked at Ron, who said, “You were telling me about the pipes, how they connect all through the Ministry. Do you think those could be a good way to get in?”

“Hmm.” Percy tapped his fingers against the table. Drawing his wand, he created a map in the air that they could all see. He pointed to one area that looked like a maze of pipework. “If this is where you are referring to, maybe. Where are you trying to go?”

“The Department of Mysteries.”

Percy and Mr. Weasley turned sharply towards Harry. 

“So the rumours are true?” 

Harry scowled. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”

Percy cleared his throat nervously. “Well, if that’s the case, perhaps these pipes are not the best way in. None of them lead to the Department of Mysteries.”

“Why’s that?”

“To keep its secrets. There are some messenger pipes that lead to that area, but they are too small for you to fit into.”

“Would we be able to enter through the pipes in a different department and navigate through the Ministry to the Department of Mysteries? ”

“Theoretically, yes, but if you are trying not to be seen, that would only draw attention to yourselves.”

Harry, Hermione, and Ron shared a concerned look. Hermione asked, “Are there any other ways in?”

Percy flicked his wand and the map zoomed in to a different spot. “So you see here, this is the only entrance to the DoM. This is what you went through when you fought for the Prophecy – the Entrance Room. As you could have probably guessed, security has tightened quite a bit since that break-in of yours.

“Now, the Entrance Room is heavily guarded and is at the end of this hall.” Percy gestured to another point on the map. “The only way to this hallway is through the main entrance, from the elevators or Floo Network. And to enter either of these, you would need proper identification. There are charms in place to make sure that your identity is what you say it is – again a result of your breaking in.”

“So we wouldn’t be able to use Polyjuice again.”

“No.”

“What about the windows? Could we smash through one and make a run for it?”

“That would be absurd.”

Harry frowned. “It almost sounds impossible. Have security protocols really intensified that much?”

“Unfortunately, yes. These were put in place long before Minister Stitch came to power. Your first break-in added a few, and your second brought many more.”

“Is there anything at all we could do?”

Percy paused and shifted the map again. “I am not sure. There is this one idea, though, that would be quite experimental and risky, if you are willing to hear about it.”

“At this point do we have any other options?”

“Fair enough. Here, by the lower bathrooms, there is a small entrance disguised as a worker’s closet. It has mainly gone under the radar.”

Mr. Weasley nodded. “When we were planning the rebellion, we used it to smuggle tools in and out of the Ministry. We would also meet there to discuss secret plans or information.”

“How do we access it?” 

“Not too far from the Ministry is a Muggle bus stop that covers a secret entrance. It’s a tunnel leading through the Underground and into the supply closet. But it is not close to the Department of Mysteries. You will have to cross the floor, making sure to keep out of sight.”

“That doesn’t sound too complicated.”

“But Harry, if Minister Stitch was the leader of the rebellion, certainly she would know about these tunnels. Most likely, she would anticipate Harry entering through there if she suspects a break-in,” Hermione added. “Wouldn’t we just be able to use the elevators with Harry’s invisibility cloak?”

Percy shook his head. “There are also spells that detect invisibility magic.”

“This is sounding like Gringotts,” Ron groaned. “Please tell me there’s at least one way we can enter.”

Harry had a sinking feeling in his gut as he said, “I think there is one way.”

“Harry, you can’t mean –”

“I think I’m going to have to give myself to Stitch.”

“But we don’t know what she wants with you! You could be in serious danger!”

“Maybe I can make a deal with her.”

“Mate, from what we’ve heard, I don’t think she’s much of the reasoning type.”

Harry sighed. He didn’t know what to do. So many thoughts were spinning around his mind. He was lost in them, and he couldn’t find a way out. 

In the back of his mind, he returned to the Dream. He was walking again through the Forbidden Forest, walking again through the white room, and staring into Malfoy’s eyes. His plea, “Come find me,” echoed in his mind. Malfoy’s intense grey eyes seemed to be the only bits of clarity for Harry. They were the only things he could see. 

Those eyes were oddly comforting, and he thought again how Malfoy might not be so bad after all. It was a thought he didn’t want to be thinking about at that moment. But at the same time, a small thought creeped to the back of his mind: what if these two things weren’t so separate? Why was he dreaming of Malfoy now, in this time, when he was also feeling the need to reform the Ministry? Surely it was no coincidence that Kingsley had appeared at the same time as the dream. 

Ministry and Malfoy … why did it always seem to go back to them? 

“I don’t think she’s the reasoning type either,” Harry finally said. 

“So what are we going to do?”

“I mean, I don’t think we have any options.”

“Harry, if you’re set on speaking to her, I would be more than happy to escort you. I have some level of trust as her personal assistant.”

“Thanks, Percy. I’m glad you’re happy about this, I’m feeling pretty grim.” Harry let out a sharp and anxious laugh. Percy smiled. 

Hermione had a concerned look on her face as she said, “If you really do intend to speak to Minister Stitch, we can also try to speak to Kingsley’s confidante at the same time. Perhaps we’ll be able to speak with her after talking with the Minister.”

“That’s not a bad idea, ‘Mione. I’m sure nothing too bad would happen,” Ron said in a proud tone. “At least, we can hope talking with Stitch will go all right.”

Harry furrowed his brows. “Percy, when would you be willing to take us in?”

“Monday, maybe. Or the next few days. Either way, it would be early this week.” 

Harry nodded. Mr. Weasley looked at him oddly, like he was happy and sad at the same time. Harry felt a pang in his chest. He couldn’t hurt the Weasleys more than he already had. He knew that his plan was dangerous and uncertain, and he knew how much he was asking of Percy to help him in this way. He knew how much pressure he was putting on Mr. Weasley, to put on a brave face, and not look concerned. He was worried about Mrs. Weasley, how she would react. It would probably be best not to tell her. 

“Do you think we should send a Patronus to Kingsley? He said he would put us in contact with his confidante,” Hermione offered. 

“Yeah. Percy, you’re sure it will be early this week?”

Percy scoffed. “I wouldn’t have said it if I weren’t certain. But just to reassure you, yes, you will be able to meet with her early in the week.”

That comforted Harry a bit, but it was still nerve-wracking to have to wait. He shared a look with Ron and Hermione, who seemed to be feeling the same things he was, based on the expressions on their faces. 

“I’ll send the Patronus when we get back to Grimmauld. I think we have some planning to do.” 

“Yeah, like. how are we going to meet the confidante?”

“Didn’t Kingsley say he would arrange it?”

“Do you know who this person is?” Mr. Weasley asked, trying hard to conceal his worry. 

Harry shook his head. “Kingsley wouldn’t tell us.”

“And you didn’t find that suspicious?”

“To be honest, yes, but this seems to be the only way to figure out if I’m actually the Master of Death.”

They all sat in silence for a bit, each in their own thoughts. 

“Hey,” Harry said quietly. Everyone looked at him. “I’m sorry if I’ve been … I dunno, forcing you to help me again. I don’t want to put you through anything that –”

“Mate, you’re not forcing us to do anything,” Ron said. “These are important things. The Ministry has been abusing their power for too long.”

“But what about the whole Master of Death thing? This feels like another rabbit hole to go down!”

“Even if it is, you deserve to know the truth.”

“Yeah, by putting you all in danger again.”

Everyone was silent. Hermione tentatively broke it by saying, “Harry, we’re standing with you. Honestly, it does seem safest to go straight to Minister Stitch. We have no idea what she will do with you if she catches you sneaking in.”

Harry let that sink in. He weighed the other options in his head. Hermione was right — every other way to get in was surely going to lead to some unfortunate demise of his. However, the idea of confronting her face-to-face was not comforting. If it was true that she needed him for her own power, Harry might be safe. But if she only wanted to see him to kill him, he would have no way of knowing. Did she want him dead because he was a threat to her power, or did she want to keep him under her wraps for the same reason?

“Besides,” Hermione added slowly, “Now that Kingsley’s account of the Ministry was confirmed for us, we have more reason to believe him about the idea of the Master of Death, even if it does still seem highly improbable.”

“Hermione’ s right,” Ron interjected, “The whole reason we wanted to do this in the first place was to confirm his story, but Perce has done that for us. Now we just go in to figure out where to go next.”

Harry set his mouth in a tight line. His friends were being unusually reasonable. It was strange, for once, that he was the reluctant one to go into the operation. There was something in the back of his mind that didn’t sit right with him about it; he was gripped by a worry that something would go wrong. It was a feeling that he couldn’t explain, but it filled him with worry. It was as if he were staring over the edge of a cliff, looking down into an endless abyss. 

“So when we get to Stitch, if things go well, we should be able to reach the confidante with relative ease,” Hermione said definitively. “We can send Kingsley the patrons to let him know when we plan on arriving, and meet with her after talking with Stitch.”

Harry felt himself nodding. Even if he was worried, at least they had a plan. 

“Alright, Harry, you’ll come with me when Minister Stitch is available,” Percy said in a surprisingly gentle tone. “Ron and Hermione will come as backup. I will be with you the entire time.”

Harry nodded again. 

“Look, here’s the map of the Ministry.” Percy spelled the full map again. “Here – is her office. And you will need to get from here – to there – to meet the confidante. The most straightforward way is through the elevators, but I have the feeling those will be off-limits for you. The second best way is through a backdoor entrance used by maintenance. They have a network of halls that go through the entire Ministry that allow them to move without being seen. You can only access them – here, behind this wall see? Or at least, on this floor, this is the only access point.”

Harry nodded again. It was a bit much to take in. 

“Percy, is there a way for me to access this spell, to go over the map while we wait?” Hermione asked. 

Percy turned his attention to her, and began to teach her the spell. Ron made eye contact with Harry, and then Mr. Weasley.

“Harry, how d’you suppose we’re going to know who the confidante is?”

“Maybe Kingsley will be with her?”

Mr. Weasley shook his head. “It is unlikely he will be there with her. The Department of Mysteries has been under tight watch, especially for someone like Kingsley who is currently not in good standing with the Minister.”

“Won’t that complicate us going there to meet her?”

“If you make your way through the maintenance halls, like Percy has suggested, you should be fine. You should also be fine if the meeting with the Minister goes according to plan.”

“And … if it goes wrong?”

Mr. Weasley gave a woeful smile. “That would be more complicated.”

Harry felt the knot of worry tangle in his stomach. The persistent feeling of ill-fate was stuck to him like a fly to a light. He frowned and looked away from everyone. 

Hermione and Percy seemed to be finished, so they turned back to the group. Hermione had a determined look on her face, eyebrows furrowed and eyes sharp. Harry saw Ron smiling at her, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if Ron even realized what his face looked like. Distantly, Harry wished he had what they had. 

“I know the spell now. When we get back to Grimmauld, we’ll be able to practice the layout a few times. We can go over the main path and a few options in case we run into any obstacles. And, we can figure out how we’re going to leave when it’s all done.”

Harry smiled wanly at her. As always, she seemed to be prepared for any situation, and for not the first time, he was incredibly grateful for their friendship.

“Now,” Hermione continued, “This isn’t going to be easy. Actually, I’m afraid it’s going to be rather difficult to get from the Minister’s office to the Department of Mysteries. There are a few places where the maintenance halls cut off and we’ll have to go through the regular halls. But … if we go over the map enough times, we can just cross those bridges when we get there.”

Mr. Weasley excused himself, saying something about needing to rest. He wished them all the best, and went back upstairs. 

In hushed tones, the four of them kept planning well into the night, going over all the different ways to move through the Ministry. By the time it was dark, Harry was aware of at least four different options they had. Even though the ominous feeling still persisted, he was feeling much better about their plan. It was coming together slowly, and there was only so much they could do without all Kingsley’s knowledge. Part of him wished he knew who the confidante was, just so it would be easier to connect with her. He instead had to lean on his gut reactions, trust that Kingsley would put them in good hands. 

As their discussion came to an end, Ginny came into the kitchen, seeming to make dinner. Harry pretended not to notice how she kept sneaking side glances at him. Fortunately for him, she didn’t ask what they were up to. 

When there was nothing else to plan, everyone helped Ginny set the table in silence. Harry was lost in his thoughts. There was a lot to process, but the silence that fell all around them was not uncomfortable. It seemed each was lost within their own thoughts. Helping was only second nature, and before they all knew it, the meal was ready. 

Sitting at the table, however, brought Harry back to his misery. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley weren’t there, and neither was George. The empty seats haunted him. Their silence left Harry in a depressing pit of lost memories, and the echoes of laughter rang in his mind. They ate somberly, still in silence. 

… 

It was after the meal, when they were all sitting around and talking amicably, that the mood shifted. The light conversation had done much to alleviate Harry’s stress. He was smiling and joking with them all, and the mood was significantly lighter than as the meal had started. Harry and Hermione were engrossed with one of Ginny’s stories, when Ron suddenly, awkwardly, cleared his throat, and stood up. Harry looked up to him. The rest of the group turned to him after Harry. 

“Erm,” he said, fidgeting with his cup. “I know things are … well, they’re a bit shit right now.”

The group laughed a little at this.

“But, even though it’s a bit dim, there’s still a lot of good in the world.” He paused and bit his lip. “Hermione –”

Hermione’s eyes grew wide. 

“Hermione, you bring the good out in me. You might not … you might not believe me, but I’m a better man with you. And even though we’ve got a lot to figure out, my feelings for you are sure. You … you’re my world, ‘Mione. And I know the world is still healing, and we’re still healing, but I know that I want to heal with you. Erm. I want to be with you through it all … through everything.” 

Hermione grew bright red, and she gave Ron a shaky smile. 

“I guess what I want to say … I guess I want to spend my life with you. And I know we haven’t been together too long, but I know that when I’m with you, you make me whole. And … and I guess … erm … I know … erm – ‘Mione, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” Without hesitation and without grace, Hermione flew out of her seat and into Ron’s arms, where he held her tight. He buried his head in her hair, and Harry saw how tight he held her waist. They broke apart and beamed at each other. 

Harry couldn’t help but mirror their smiles. The unexpected joy of it all – he had no idea Ron was even planning on proposing! But nonetheless, it all made sense. They had pined after each other through most of their time at Hogwarts, and they were practically joined by the hip at Grimmauld. Even though they were still so new to the adult world, it was clear to Harry that their love for each other was older than they themselves were. They had such a strong connection, that Harry wasn’t even surprised that they were engaged so quickly. And even though he was surely happy for them, the bitter, ugly side of him panged with a smidge of jealousy. They made life look so easy, so effortlessly happy. 

Ginny broke him out of his thoughts by placing a hand on his arm. He made eye contact with her for a moment, and her eyes gestured to another room, imploring into him. 

“Let’s give them a moment,” she said quietly. 

Harry nodded, and he let her lead him into her bedroom. They stood awkwardly in front of each other. Harry was very aware of the fact that the last time he had been in her room, they had kissed. Back then, he had wanted nothing but to be closer to her. Standing in front of her again, though, he was glad for the space between them. He ran a hand awkwardly through his hair and subconsciously rubbed at his now-painless scar. 

Ginny didn’t break eye contact with him. “Are you alright?”

“Could be better,” he mumbled.

“You’re alive.”

“Great observation.”

“I couldn’t help but hear snippets of what you were talking about before dinner.”

“Oh …” 

“Why do you keep doing this?”

“I feel like I’m the only one who can do anything,” Harry said bitterly. 

“I don’t want to know why you’re talking about the Ministry, or their floor plans. Hell, I don’t even want to know what’s going on. But will you be safe?”

Harry smiled warily at her. “I’ll try my best.”

“That seems like that’s always the answer.” Subconsciously, she reached out and brushed a strand of Harry’s hair out of his eyes. Her eyes searched his, but Harry couldn’t read the emotion behind them. She was a lot shorter than him, but in that moment, he was the one who felt small. “I missed you last year.”

“I … missed you too.” 

Ginny looked away for a moment, and tucked a strand of her own hair behind her ear. “Why do you always fight, Harry? Why always be on the move?”

“I guess … I feel like I have to. No one else ever does.”

“Maybe because you don’t let them.” Ginny turned her piercing gaze back to him. Before he could respond, she said, “I missed you, Harry, but I can’t deal with this again. I need to know you’ll be safe.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “Ron said you said we were over.”

“You don’t think so?”

“Have you … moved on?”

“I think so.” As always, she was brutally honest with her words. Her quick wit and sharp eyes were trained on Harry. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Romantically, I mean. When you were gone … I can’t explain it, but you’ve always been more … family.”

Harry let out a sigh he didn’t know he had held. “Actually, I know what you mean. It’s been the same for me.” 

She smiled, seemingly for the first time, “What so I’m not hot enough for you anymore?” 

Harry smiled back, “In your dreams, Weasley.” 

She made a face, and the tension between them vanished. “You perv!” 

Harry laughed, genuinely laughed, and he felt much lighter. It was as if some unknown weight had been taken off him, and he was breathing easy again. The sparkle in her eyes returned, and she smiled warmly at him. 

“So … have you met someone new?” Harry asked. “You’re seeing anybody else?”

Ginny turned an uncharacteristic shade of red. “I’ve been on a date or two with this lad from the quidditch team. I’m not sure if we’ll go anywhere. I’m not my brother, I need a little bit of time to get to know someone!”

Harry laughed again. 

“What about you, is there anyone new in your life?”

“If only. My life’s been … well, it’s still not mine,” Harry sighed, and felt the weight of his plans falling on him again. He longed for the brief peace he had just experienced.  
“There’s a lot going on that I need to take care of.”

Ginny frowned. “You need to stand up for yourself more. You’re so busy fixing everyone else that you forget about yourself.”

“I … yeah. I guess. It always seems to go back to me, though.”

“Yeah, and it probably will, as long as you keep involving yourself in serious shit. The world doesn’t revolve around you, Harry.”

Harry warily smiled as a response. If only she knew that the world did, in fact revolve around him, now that he was the Master of Death. It was a burden he had never asked for. It was something that he had stumbled upon, placed on him by some unfortunate accident. Even if Kingsley was lying – and Harry had the growing suspicion that he wasn’t – the second great wizarding war had, in fact, revolved around Harry. It wasn’t the world, but it was their world, their population. Voldemort had branded him as the center of the world when he killed Harry’s parents. He had never asked for any of it, and yet, he was the center of it all! When would he just have a normal life?

Ginny patted his arm softly. She smiled at him with her eyes, almost as if she knew his thoughts. In that moment, Harry was incredibly thankful that they were still on good terms with each other. It was a part of his life that he didn’t need to worry about. 

They hugged, and went back downstairs to the kitchen, where it seemed like everyone else was ready to leave. Ron and Hermione were leaning on each other, smiling dumbly at each other. Harry grinned at them as he saw them. 

“Ready to apparate back, Mate?”

Harry nodded, and with a small wave to Ginny and Percy, he, Hermione, and Ron apparated back to Grimmauld.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feel free to let me know what you think!


End file.
